


soul and sword

by KyberLeoCrystals



Category: Soul Calibur, SoulEdge, Soulblade, Soulcalibur
Genre: Gen, ending rewrite, essentially i wrote a story version of siegfried's arcade ending from soulblade, i haven't written in ages and playing soulblade again inspired me, me? writing something for a game that is now twenty-six years old? it's more likely than you think!, mostly because i re-played edge master mode and wasn't impressed with namco's short-ass description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyberLeoCrystals/pseuds/KyberLeoCrystals
Summary: The sword. The one that he has fought, bled, and killed to find, and it's here now in front of him, beckoning him with the promise of revenge.He reaches out and touches the hilt, mind made up and resolve like steel. He will avenge his father or die trying.
Kudos: 2





	soul and sword

**Author's Note:**

> so uhhhhhhh i've not written anything in a while and felt like i needed some practice. i've been re-playing _soulblade_ a lot recently and remembered how, as a kid, i used to write descriptive versions of the characters' arcade endings - particularly siegfried's since he's always been my favourite character. what better way to practice writing than to do the exact same thing now as an adult?

There is a flash — a light so bright it momentarily robs him of sight — before he collapses, panting hard , onto the harsh floor. Exhaustion swells through him; the travelling, the fighting, all of it has drained him.

All he can see is the cool grey of the stone floor at his knees. All he can hear is the rushing of his own blood in his ears as he heaves great, dry gulps of air into lungs that feel as though they have been starved for a century. The armour that has kept him safe - kept him alive - thoughout his journey now feels like nothing more than a dead weight, suffocating him and pinning him to the ground. And yet he doesn't even have the energy to take it off.

When he finally regains enough strength to lift his head (and when it no longer feels like his lungs are trying to forcibly eject themselves from his chest) the first thing that meets his gaze is the sword. _That sword._ The one he has fought, bled, and even killed to find, and it's here now, in front of him, beckoning him with the promise of revenge against the cowardly blackguard who murdered his father.

Exhausted and drained as he is, Siegfried wills - forces, almost - himself to get to his feet. His legs, still clad in iron, struggle to hold him up as he staggers almost drunkenly towards his prize, lodged in the very centre of the patterned floor. No other evidence remains here of the battles that have been waged in this place, and Siegfried cannot help but feel a stab of pride at being the first to defeat the so-called Immortal Pirate. Not to mention the battle that had followed, where he had defeated the combined forms of the man that had once been Cervantes de León and the wicked spirit of the cursed sword. That being — that _inferno_ — will not be something Siegfried will easily forget in the coming months.

At this thought he finds himself hesitating. The sword has so much power, to be able to turn ment into unspeakable horrors. Does he dare risk trying to wield such power?

He pictures an alternative version of events. _He sees himself ready his own blade, feels the sheer force as his sword shatters the Soul Edge into pieces. As soon as it's over he feels nothing but anger; fury at himself for doing such a thing. How could he be so damn selfish? This isn't about him! This is about Frederick._

He will avenge his father or die trying.

His mind made up and resolve like steel, he reaches out and touches the hilt, forcing himself not to flinch, as though touching it can kill him instantly. He closes lightly trembling fingers around it and pulls sharply, wrenching it out of its resting place. The sword shows very little resistance, and no mark is left on the ground where it has been.

Siegfried holds the blade aloft, admiring it. A brief flash of an image appears in his mind at the action, like a memory struggling to resurface, but it's gone as quickly as it appears. He pays it no mind, staring at the sword in amazement. He is accustomed to weapons nearly his own height and with the weight to match; this one, by comparison, feels almost feather-light.

Bizarrely, it almost feels as if the sword is healing him, wiping away his fatigue with a pleasantly cool sensation.

It lasts for but a fleeting moment before his eyes widen in shock.

This sword does not want to help him; it does not want to heal him. It wants to _own_ him, possess him like a puppet to do its bidding. With Cervantes de León dead, Soul Edge needs a new host.

That new host, Siegfried realises all too late, is him.

He releases the sword from his grip, expecting it to crash to the floor. It doesn't. The sword has latched onto him, gripping his hand like a leech. Almost instantly he feels the spirit worming its way through him, up through his left arm and towards his heart. He cries out and tries to tug the sword off his hand roughly, not even caring if he needs to rip off his whole hand to do it.

Soul Edge, of course, has other plans. The evil spirit slithers into the boy's terrified mind like a serpent, wrapping itself tightly around his consciousness and blocking out most of his own thoughts.

Siegfried screams in terror, still struggling against the vice-like grip on his hand, but deep down he knows his screaming is in vain. The village around him was laid waste to some time ago, and there isn't a single soul around to help him; no-one around to hear him.

His entire body is burning up, feverish, as Soul Edge latches itself onto his very being, warping and distorting his form like ripples on the reflection on a lake's surface. His skin crawls and burns as though a colony of burning insects were upon him. He lets out one final scream of terror as his vision begins to dim.

*****

The host's body falls to the floor, battered and worn, but Soul Edge continues its transformation of the human. _Foolish runt. Honestly believed that he, a mere **boy** , was worthy of wielding the power of the cursed sword. He's nothing more than a stupid child._ Soul Edge can feel the boy's consciousness trying to fight off its influence from deep in the recesses of his mind, but it pays no heed.

It is time to hunt.

* * *

The small village is perched under a large hill, and it is peaceful in the still night air. A few dim lantern glows indicate that there are people still awake, but none dare to venture outside at this time of night.

Nobody, that is, except the dark figure looming over from atop the hill. The full moon appears larger and brighter than ever behind it, as though warning for danger. The figure is clad in dark armour from head to toe, like a twisted image of a knight, and in its deformed left hand it grips a sword. It is a long sword, not unlike the zweihänders used by the local knights.

This sword, however, is hungry.

As the figure overlooks the village, the people recoil and shutter their windows in fear of the monstrous silhouette.

Soul Edge feasts well this night.

And if, as the Azure Knight makes its way through the village, slaughtering all who appear in its sights, anyone notices that this figure, this creature, bears a striking resemblance to Frederick Schtauffen's missing son, well... They certainly don't get a chance to say it.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't expect many people will read this, since the _soulcalibur_ fandom has been dying for a while, and even fewer have played the game that started it all, but if you've made it this far, please don't hesitate to drop a kudos or a comment. i may even turn this into a series and write all the characters' endings, but i'm not guaranteeing anything.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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